Two Wings
by Peregrine Vision
Summary: Soujiro goes on an unexpected journey and finds himself fighting for a cause again...this time on the right side.
1. A Star Falls

Two Wings A Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic by Peregrine Vision  
  
1 - A Star Falls  
  
The bargemen waved goodbye to Soujiro, who waved cheerfully back as the barge sailed on down the river and out of sight. Still smiling, the young man turned in the opposite direction and began walking.  
  
Soujiro had acquired a taste for travelling. With his natural speed and warrior's endurance he made good time, and he rather liked drifting about, wandering wherever the mood took him. Recently he'd taken a fancy to boats. He liked their gentle sway, and the sound of water constantly slapping against their sides. That sound had lulled him to sleep a few times, when he had been in his occasional black moods.  
  
His stride slowed a little and a sadder, more weary look came over his boyish face. Soujiro had promised himself to pay attention to the matter of atonement without brooding over what had gone past, but one was only human. Sometimes he would be overcome with guilt and grief, for his wasted life, for the other lives he had wasted, who would not have a second chance as he did.   
  
Himura-san was right. More and more Soujiro saw the truth, in the lives of people that he encountered, in their little struggles and joys...they were worth protecting, these "little people". They were greater than ever he himself, or the Juppon Gatana, or even Shishio-san could have been.  
  
Turning his face up to the sun, Soujiro closed his eyes. He walked on like that, for a little while, just because he could.  
  
* * *  
  
At the end of the day, though, he was dragging his feet much more, and contemplating much less. The day had not been as good as he had thought. He had gone down the road for miles without seeing more than a few rice fields, and farmers that looked as if they couldn't afford to feed themselves, much less a swordless rurouni.  
  
Well, that wasn't strictly true. There *had* been the bandits.  
  
A small knot of robbers had attempted an ambush on what seemed a soft, unaccompanied target--namely Soujiro. But though he had given up his sword, he had not given up his talent. He evaded them easily, vanishing the moment he saw them barreling out of the trees at him. Just to teach them a lesson, he had even given some of them a good whack with a fallen tree branch. He left them gibbering among themselves, feeling annoyed and curiously disappointed.  
  
Perhaps it was all the same as giving up the sword. Soujiro still felt...not quite whole, without his blade at his hip or slung over his shoulder. It was like phantom pain...as if his hand had been severed, but his lost fingers still ached.  
  
All in all, these things had come together to leave Soujiro, by nightfall, feeling almost worn out. Usually he paced himself, but today he had wanted to reach another boat, or at least a decent body of water, to feel that sway and creak under his feet. In Okinawa there was a decent number of ports, and so he had headed for the nearest one.  
  
It turned out to be a tiny, filthy seashore town. There were several little fishing boats tied to the dock, and no one manning any of them. The nets had been hauled in for the day, and the moon was too bright for nighttime fishing. Soujiro was too tired to ask permission from anyone, and his only thought was an almost irrational craving for that gentle rocking motion to send him to sleep. He crawled into the boat that seemed to stink the least--this one exuded a gentler, almost cloying smell underneath the fish odor. The smell of fish itself seemed much thinner than in the other boats. There were also more sheets of oiled cloth, sail sheets Soujiro assumed.  
  
If he had been thinking clearly, he would have noticed that the sheets draped the boat's benches completely, and that those benches were actually arranged like shelves, with a second plank just under the actual bench. But he was outright sleepy by this time. He stretched out on a lower "shelf" in the bottom of the boat, wrapped himself in his travelling blankets, and went to sleep, bundled warmly under a few of the sail sheets.  
  
* * *   
  
Being the good swordsman that he was, Soujiro woke instantly at the first step of someone into the boat.  
  
Immediately he knew that it was an hour or so after midnight, that there were two men getting into the boat, and that the last thing on these men's minds was fishing. He also knew from the easy way they carried the swords at their hips that these men were experienced swordsmen. Worse, he knew that even with his speed he couldn't get out of his blankets and out from under the bench fast enough to stay alive.  
  
Instead he controlled his breathing so it wouldn't be heard, kept perfectly still but ready to move at any moment, and wished he could pray.  
  
He hadn't been this scared since he was small and living in fear of his so-called family. The old feeling of panicked helplessness washed over him, and he bit down on a sob. //You aren't that scared little boy any more,// he scolded himself. //You are Tenken no Soujiro, and you ought to know enough to get a grip on yourself. Some warrior!// But the tightness in his throat and chest did not go away.  
  
The men rowed steadily, saying nothing, until a half hour or so later.   
  
"Steady now, they see us. Now to get this thing up."  
  
The boat bumped gently against a much larger vessel, and voices hissed down from above.  
  
"Be careful will you! That cargo's too precious to jiggle around!"  
  
"Yare, yare," muttered the man whose feet were closest to Soujiro's head. "Just throw down the damn ropes. Is Kiyooka inspecting it, or has he finally decided to trust us?"  
  
A dry laugh sounded above as iron hooks, attached to coils of thick rope, tumbled down. "Nobody trusts drug runners."  
Grumbling under their breath, the men moved around the boat, fastening the hooks securely to its sides. Next, Soujiro's breath froze in his throat as the whole boat lurched upward and began to rise. Grunts sounded faintly as the men on the larger boat heaved the much smaller one up to the side. The little boat rocked as the two toughs clambered off, onto the deck.  
  
"Well? Where's Kiyooka? Bet he'll scrape the bottom of this thing looking through the goods. You'd think we filled the crates with dyed barley instead of opium, the way he goes through everything."  
  
Again Soujiro caught his breath. Now that the men were out of the boat, he could move fast enough to get away. But he didn't know how many other men there were now, or how many of them were fighters, or whether they had arrows or something that would ensure his silence even if he did get into the water. And soon this man called Kiyooka would come, and find Soujiro huddled amid the boxes of opium like a terrified mouse.  
  
"Stupid! You think there's anything he could spot in there, in this dark? Best to wait till morning. We'll be well on our way to Canton by then."  
  
The China seaport city! Soujiro gulped. //Well, you did want to be a wanderer,// he said ironically to himself. //I'd bet even Himura-san hasn't wandered that far.// At least he was safe for the moment.   
  
The crew let the little boat hang over the side like a lifeboat, and indeed Soujiro supposed that was what it was meant to look like. He stayed still until he could feel that everyone had gone, then he crept out of his blankets, tied his little bundle together, and slipped out of the boat and onto the deck of the ship.  
  
For that was what he could see it was now--a ship, a middle-sized one of the Western style, with sails like several layers of wings, and four "lifeboats", two on each side. Soujiro had no doubt that all the boats secretly harbored crates of opium under their blanketing tarps. So it was a smuggler's ship, bound for China with opium. That was odd--didn't opium come in *from* China, not go out to it?  
  
That line of thought was cut short as Soujiro spotted a patrolling guard approaching. Slipping off his sandals, he carried them as he slid along the shadowed areas of the deck. In a little dark niche he found a closet meant for the ropes that now tethered the lifeboats. He settled in there with a sigh. So much for his nice rest, rocked to sleep by the waves. Now it was itchy hemp cables for both bedding and pillows, and not much promise of rest tonight.  
  
* * *   
  
The next few days were spent moving over the ship, changing hiding places. During the day, Soujiro found, was the best time to sleep, because the smugglers themselves didn't move around much, for fear of attracting the attention of patrolling Imperial ships. And they never cleaned, so the wash closet below decks, where things like buckets and mops and soap were kept, was the safest place to sleep.  
  
For food Soujiro lived off a box of dried seaweed and rice crackers that he had stolen from the galley. He had had hungrier days, in his childhood and now in his new life as a rurouni. All in all he was almost comfortable.  
  
What he worried about was what would happen when he landed in China. He didn't know a word of the language. And he had no money to offer a ship returning to Japan.   
  
Well, he could worry about that when he got out. The main thing was escaping without notice. And that should be easy. He was, after all, *living* there without being noticed. And he had gotten on without being noticed. Escaping shouldn't be much harder.  
  
* * *  
  
Of course, Soujiro realized later, it was an attitude like that which got people killed.   
  
They docked, and he made the mistake of moving almost immediately instead of waiting for a quieter moment. He was caught, naturally, sneaking out of a porthole. The head smuggler, the one called Kiyooka, had him held in the arms of one of the two who had brought the boatload of opium, with the other one's sword hovering near his throat.  
  
"Pretty little sneak, aren't you?" murmured Kiyooka, trailing a finger along Soujiro's neck. "Too bad you're a boy...I know people who would pay a good price for skin like this. Maybe I can find someone willing to make a deal. I'm a drugrunner, not a flesh-trader, but I wouldn't mind making a little extra."  
  
Soujiro looked around wildly. The docks were crowded with people. Surely one of them would notice, and come to help, or at least get help. But everyone around them seemed to be keeping their head down, or looking everywhere except at the little scene aboard the smuggler ship.   
  
Soujiro realized, with a horrible sinking feeling, that Canton must be a place where a lot of illicit dealings went on, and that no one wanted to pay too close an attention to whatever did not directly concern them. Once more, he had to defend himself alone.  
  
He quickly decided the best thing would be to go back to his old smiley act. It never failed to throw people off balance. "That would be a good idea, Kiyooka-san," he agreed, nodding as if he were an adviser and not a captive.  
  
Kiyooka and the rest blinked at him. "Eh?"  
  
"It's always nice to have a little extra income," Soujiro explained, glancing at the sword held up to his face, which was beginning to waver. "I myself hardly have any income at all, so I like it when I come across a little money or a chance to earn it. Don't you feel as if it makes you more secure, having money?"  
  
"What the hell are you talking about, you milk-faced piece of shark bait? Shut up or I'll have my men gut you and hang you over the side for the fish."  
  
Soujiro set his teeth. It looked as if the action he had been trying so hard to avoid was necessary after all. Serve him right for not having a sword handy. He would have liked one like Himura-san's, which took no lives. But they were just not made any more...Now he would have to use a real blade on these men, who had no defense in comparison.  
  
Perhaps not. He drove his foot into the foot of the man holding him. As the man released his hold, Soujiro grabbed his sword, still sheathed, out of his belt. He spun just in time to take the swing of the man whose sword was bared, and deflected it, leaving a gash in the iron scabbard. A quick whack to the head knocked the man unconscious.  
  
"Grab him!" bellowed Kiyooka. Every sailor on deck ran towards Soujiro.  
  
He took off, beating down the few who got in his way, and leaped over the side. Unfortunately, once he got into the water, he had to let go of the heavy sword. He also suddenly remembered two things. One was that the water slowed him down alarmingly. The other was that he only knew how to do a sort of doggy paddle that was enough to keep him afloat and propel him forward, but not enough to keep ahead of the men who were now jumping into the water after him.  
  
But the dock was so close. He could almost touch the moss-covered wood pilings of the pier. Just a little further...  
  
Ironlike fingers grabbed his hair from behind. Terror seized him then, a mad terror that was all too familiar. Once again ten years old and in deadly fear of his life, Soujiro screamed.  
  
"Someone--anyone! Help! ANYBODY!!! HELP ME!!!"  
  
The sailor dragged him close, and clamped a hand over his shrieks. Soujiro thrashed, but the water and his mindless panic kept him from being able to do any damage. He was hauled through the water, closer and closer to the ship.  
  
Just then a tall figure thundered down the docks and sprang off the pier in a mighty leap that carried all the way to Soujiro and his captor. A pair of feet, clad in Chinese shoes, landed heel-first on the attacker's head and drove him straight into the water. Soujirou was almost dragged along, but he was quickly released and bobbed up to the surface again, gasping. His rescuer held him afloat with a strong arm, and with the other gave a swift jab to the forehead of another pursuer who had caught up to them. Then he began to swim with long, fast strokes toward the pier.  
  
Twice more they were almost caught, and twice more the other fended off the chasing smugglers. At that point a gang of police came running down to the pier, shouting in a twangy Chinese dialect. Soujiro's rescuer yelled something back at them. The smugglers had turned tail and were swimming frantically toward the ship, which had already cast off.  
  
Soujiro was helped up onto the dock by several hands. He sprawled on the old wooden slats, gasping, and began to weep with shock and relief.  
  
//Someone came. Someone came. Someone helped me. He was right. Himura-san was right.// He shook with violent sobs of joy. //Someone helped me!//  
  
"Hey." The voice was speaking in Japanese, a rough country accent that was crazily familiar. "Hey, you, don't cry. It's okay now. Come on and get yourself dried off."  
  
Tears still blurring his eyes, Soujiro looked up to thank his rescuer. The words died in his throat as he blinked furiously to clear his vision. He stared at the dripping man before him, who stared back. Scraggly beginnings of a beard, much longer and wilder hair, different clothes entirely, but it was him. The man stared at him with equal amazement.  
  
"Seta Soujiro?"  
  
"Sagara Sanosuke-san!"  
  
-end 1- 


	2. Finger Trails

Two Wings - an RK fanfic 2 - Finger Trails Peregrine Vision  
  
Soujiro sat in the police chief's office, a blanket around him and a coal brazier next to his chair. He had not been allowed to change and have a bath till he had answered the officers' questions.  
  
Sagara-san sat in the chair opposite, still dripping, but with his upper body bare. He was acting as interpreter. His familiar presence and rough Japanese comforted Soujiro, former enemies though they were.  
  
To the police chief, Soujiro related the details of his accidental capture and subsequent escape. He described as best he could the ship itself, its cargo, and descriptions of Kiyooka and the others, especially the two men who had unwittingly brought him aboard. As he talked, Sagara-san translated, rattling off in the Cantonese dialect to the police, translating in turn the questions for Soujiro to answer. Soujiro looked at the wild-looking street fighter with more respect. He'd heard Chinese was extremely difficult to learn, and here was Sagara-san, speaking a complicated dialect like a native.  
  
The Cantonese police, as it turned out, were extremely suspicious and distrusting of foreigners. At one point the officer in charge leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Soujiro, clearly not believing what he was hearing. He then said something at which Sagara-san flared up, bursting into a stream of dreadful language without bothering to translate. Soujiro didn't know Cantonese, but he *did* know a little of Sagara-san, and he didn't need to know the language to realize when the man was swearing. After a while the officer subsided, a little red about the ears, and allowed Soujiro to continue. Soujiro's own cheeks were a little warm as he answered, and he kept his eyes on his lap.  
  
Finally the police chief nodded and leaned back, grunting a dismissal. Soujiro stayed where he was, radiating outward calm, but mentally twisting his fingers. He wondered how to broach the subject of getting back to Japan. No money, no language skills...what was he going to do? How was he going to get home?  
  
It was so easy in the old days. If you wanted something, you took it. Soujiro couldn't help thinking that only a few years ago, he wouldn't have had to sit in this stuffy office being questioned by a man who was quite probably his inferior in all things. It wouldn't have mattered that he didn't know the language. He could have slain everyone aboard the smuggler's ship except the steersman, whom Soujiro could have forced to take him back to Japan. Or he could have killed the two men on the boat in the first place, because he would still have his sword.  
  
It would be so easy to go back to that life. To *take* things, instead of having to beg for them.  
  
But...  
  
He looked up from his lap to see Sagara-san watching him intently. Those burning chocolate eyes made Soujiro nervous. Last time they had met, Sagara-san was standing off to one side while Soujiro had been doing his best to kill Himura Kenshin. Sagara-san had just saved his life, possibly, but did he still harbor a grudge for the one who had almost killed his best friend?  
  
"Hey, you worried about something?" the taller man asked gruffly. "You looked a bit sick for a minute there." He scratched his stubbly chin, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"Um..." Beg for things? Soujiro didn't even know how to *ask*. "Am I...staying here? Will they detain me?"  
  
"Staying? *Here*? Hell, no." Sagara roared with laughter. He said something to the chief, who burst out laughing too. It wasn't a feeling Soujiro liked, having them laughing at him. No one had ever laughed at him before.  
  
"Sorry, sorry," chuckled Sagara-san, shaking his wild mane. "Have you *seen* the place? Cockroaches, fleas, rats...and those are the *officers'* quarters!" He went off again, and so did the chief.  
  
The laughter died down eventually, and Sagara-san grinned at the very confused Soujiro. "Nah, you're staying at my place, o'course. Special treatment for the friend of a special narcotics agent." He winked, startling the young man considerably. That wink had carried no malice at all, not the slightest hint of lewdness....and yet Soujiro found himself blushing.  
  
"A...arigatou gozaimasu, Sagara-san...."  
  
"You brought things? Nah, 'course not. Okay, come on, then."  
  
Puzzled but grateful, Soujiro followed Sagara-san out.  
  
* * *  
  
The "place" was a decent little house on a rather plain street. The neighborhood was conveniently close to a large all-goods market, but far enough away as to be relatively quiet. This was a relief to Soujiro, who had gotten very dizzy on the way through the market. The noise and the press of people were too much for his already-taxed body, and Sagara-san had practically had to carry him home.  
  
The inside of the house was tiny, two-story though it was. A futon was laid out in the far corner, instead of being tucked away upstairs. A worn folding screen was next to it. Across the room from the futon was a small wooden table with squat stools around it. Sagara-san rummaged in a small cupboard near the back of the house and handed Soujiro a faded green yukata.  
  
"You can have the bed," he said, nodding at the futon. "I'll sleep upstairs. I should anyway, but most nights I'm too damn lazy to drag myself up there. Or too damn drunk. Or just in a hurry to get to bed, if you know what I mean." Another wink.  
  
Soujiro's ears burned with embarrassment. Too much information.  
  
To his surprise, Sagara-san went a little red too. "Ah, I talk too much," he mumbled, turning away. "Tea? You want tea? There's a brazier out back where I heat water and cook stuff. How about water for a bath? Or maybe that could wait for later. You're prob'ly tired."  
  
"Thank you so much--" began Soujiro, bowing. The other waved him off, looking sheepish.  
  
"Don't mention it. So, uh, how you been?" asked Sagara-san, heading for the back door (which was Western-style, instead of a sliding screen). Soujiro ducked behind the screen, raising his voice a little as he stripped off his damp clothes.  
  
"I've been traveling. I didn't know you were traveling too, Sagara-san."  
  
"Actually, it's kinda more like running away." He heard Sagara-san chuckle. "Got into a bit of trouble back home. Hey, you know, your hair got longer. That's why I didn't recognize you right away."  
  
Soujiro undid his short tail and shook his hair free. "I'm not used to it being this long," he remarked, accepting the change of subject. "I always forget. Your hair is long now, too."  
  
"Yeah, the Wild Man of Mongolia, that's me. I need a shave, too." Soujiro heard the clink of cups. "At least I shave more than once a week now. Do you know how hard it is to get a razor in Mongolia?"  
  
Soujiro laughed a little as he slipped into the yukata. "Mongolia? You really were in Mongolia?"  
  
"Yeah, for a while. Came down 'cos I heard there was a little problem with drug-running at the seaports. Apparently someone's bringing in op--"  
  
Sagara-san stopped as Soujiro emerged from behind the screen, tying his sash. The yukata, being Sagara-san's, was several sizes too big for him, and trailed on the floor. He had hitched the sash up at about ribcage level, where the obi would be on a woman, and crossed it over his shoulders and back to keep the robe from slipping off his shoulders.  
  
Clearing his throat, Sagara-san busied himself with the tea. "--opium," he continued quickly. "A friend of mine..." there was an odd pause, "used to make a cheap, extra-addictive version of the stuff. The drug coming into the 'ports was like that, but a bad copy, as if somebody'd gotten hold of the original and copied it without the actual recipe. Um."  
  
He turned around, setting two steaming cups on the table. "Here. It's called 'Pu Er'." The Chinese came naturally out of his mouth, although it sounded a little harsh, like his Japanese. "It's supposed to make you feel more relaxed after a nasty shock, or something. That's what Liu Chen says, anyway."  
  
"Liu Chen?" Soujiro sat, and sipped at his tea. It was very hot, extremely strong, and quite bitter. He just managed not to pull a face.  
  
"Neighbor. Across the street."  
  
Soujiro downed his tea as quickly as he could without seeming rude. Surprisingly enough, it seemed to work. He could feel muscles all over his body stretch, releasing tension. The heat settled in his stomach and chest, leaving a very comfortable drowsiness.  
  
"See?" Sagara-san grinned at him. "I know the taste takes getting used to, but it works, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yes, it does," agreed Soujiro sleepily. He smiled at Sagara-san. "Sagara-san..."  
  
"Go ahead and rest," said Sagara-san, standing abruptly and taking the cups. "It's my house; I'll clear up."  
  
"Thank you," murmured Soujiro. "For--for everything." He wandered over to the futon, sank into it and was happily unconscious.  
  
* * *  
  
"Sou..." Rough lips on his, burning on the sensitive flesh. Hot palms and wandering fingers stung his skin. "You'll learn to please me properly, boy."  
  
Soujiro writhed against the lean body pinning his own to the futon. Something brushed against his thigh, hard and searing. That demanding mouth took his again, a dry, hot tongue diving into his eager, wet mouth. And then he was filled, and it hurt beyond imagining, and it felt so *good*.... "Ah...ahhh...Shishio-san...!"  
  
But the dream ended without completion, and Soujiro sank into blackness again.  
  
When he woke it was dark. He was disoriented--rare for him; he really must have been tired. There was a blanket over him. His legs were bare under the blanket, his yukata tangled about them. Then he had been moving around in his sleep...also rare. But his body always reacted to those memory-dreams.  
  
Absently his hands wandered over his own body, checking for the red handprints and burn marks that should have been left behind, that *had* been left so often before. But they were not there.  
  
There was a scratching sound, and light flared suddenly in the room. Soujiro tensed, and wished he had his sword. The nearest available weapon, if he remembered, was a broom in the back of the house, near the coal brazier. A gentle and completely non-threatening voice interrupted his frantic calculating.  
  
"Are you hungry?"  
  
The accent was heavily Cantonese, and the voice, high and a little nasal, was not Sagara-san's. Soujiro peeked out from the blankets to find a handsome, if round-faced, young Chinese man hanging a large paper lantern from the ceiling. The Chinese was dressed as most of them were, in high-collared jacket and pants, both of a bland dark-blue color. A long braid hung down his back, but the scalp around it was shaved clean. A jaunty little black cap perched on the back of his head, giving him a friendly, scholarly air.  
  
The young Chinese smiled at him. "I am Liu Chen. Xian Ho Xiu Que asked me to look after you until he comes back."  
  
The heavy accent made it hard to discern Sagara-san's first name, but Soujiro figured it out after a few moments. "Thank you." He sat up, feeling far from refreshed, even after his long nap. There was, he noticed suddenly, a delicious aroma of meat and shrimp and vegetables in the air. His stomach growled. "I think I *am* hungry," he admitted, smiling apologetically at Liu Chen.  
  
Liu Chen laughed. "Come. I made dinner--Xian Ho cooks a little, but his cooking is still far from edible to everyone but the desperate." His Japanese was very good, but very formal, and a little old-fashioned, as if he'd learned it from an outdated book. Then Soujiro realized what he had *said*, and began to laugh too.  
  
"Well, I've been rather desperate lately, so this is a nice surprise." He got up, self-consciously rearranging his yukata, and joined Liu Chen at the table.  
  
Dinner was delicious, the best Soujiro had eaten in years. There were fat shrimp dumplings in translucent dough wrapping, toasted noodles with a thick sauce of mixed beef slices, mushrooms, and all kinds of buttered vegetables, and a large plate of steaming rice. The rice was long grain, not the little Japanese kind, and had been fried and mixed with a lot of things like egg and shrimp and minced vegetables. It looked strange, but tasted wonderful.  
  
Liu Chen chuckled when Soujiro closed his eyes to chew. "I am glad you like my cooking." He had a very young smile: wide and completely artless, like a ten-year-old boy's. His eyes crinkled up when he grinned.  
  
Suddenly the door banged open, and Sagara-san crashed into the room, his eyes wild, his hair and the ends of his red bandanna flying everywhere. He threw aside his shabby dustcloak and launched himself at Liu Chen, roaring.  
  
Liu Chen leaped in front of the table where Soujiro sat frozen, and countered Sagara-san's punch. He whirled, lashing out with one foot. Sagara-san caught it.  
  
There followed a series of moves so fast Soujiro could hardly follow them. His jaw fell as Liu Chen led Sagara-san away from the table and around the room, punching, kicking, blocking and leaping with a speed that even Soujiro had never imagined. Soujiro had been known among the Juppon Gatana and the rest of Japan's underworld as the fastest fighter in Japan, but he knew that in a test of pure speed he would lose to this little man with the boyish grin.  
  
The storm of whirling limbs ended with Sagara-san flat on his back, Liu Chen's hand held rigid at Sagara-san's throat, ready to crush it. One foot rested on the larger man's stomach.  
  
Before Soujiro could even cry out, both men began to laugh. Liu Chen let Sagara-san up and received a heavy, good-natured clap on the shoulder.  
  
"I'll beat you yet, you Shaolin bookworm," claimed Sagara-san. "Hey, Soujiro, sorry to scare you."  
  
Soujiro managed to close his mouth, swallow the food that was still in it, and assume a polite smile.  
  
"So you met Liu Chen," said Sagara-san, slinging an arm around the young man, who clutched at his cap to keep it from falling off. "He's a Shaolin monk. You should see them fight--I guess you just did, huh?" He came over to the table and sat down beside Soujiro. "Damn good, isn't he? Give Kenshin a run for his money, that's for sure. Maybe you, too." He grinned.  
  
Amazing. Not a shred of hard feelings. When the Juppon Gatana had gone against Himura-san and his friends, it had been a life-and-death, win-or-lose battle. And here was Sagara-san, literally digging into the food with his chopsticks, only a few inches away from someone who would once have killed him without regret. He even had the audacity to mention Soujiro's fighting skill, which he had only ever seen from the business end, as it were.  
  
"You done eating?" Sagara-san said, with his mouth full, rice bowl in hand. "Your plate's still full. If you're not going to finish that..." His blunt Chinese chopsticks were already edging toward one of Soujiro's dumplings.  
  
Quickly Soujiro snatched plate and bowl out of the way. "Don't even think about it, Sagara-san!"  
  
Liu Chen began to laugh, and Sagara-san grinned again. Soujiro laughed too. It felt funny, like something snapping in his chest. He laughed for a long time. They all did.  
  
-end 2- 


	3. Gently To My Heart

Two Wings - an RK fanfic By Peregrine Vision 3 - Gently to My Heart  
  
"Where did you meet him?"  
  
It was late. Liu Chen had left, begging off from Sagara-san's proposed "night on the town" (which Soujiro did not feel quite ready for, either). A little disappointed, Sagara-san was preparing for bed. Soujiro helped him with the dishes, which were washed outside by a tiny well. They were squatting outside, washing the heavy mismatched plates in a wooden tub.  
  
"Huh? Liu Chen, you mean?" Sagara-san shrugged. "Up north. I was heading up to Mongolia; heard there were some really tough fighters there." He grinned.  
  
"You really *like* fighting?" said Soujiro, wonderingly.  
  
"Hell, yeah. Don't you?"  
  
The question settled in Soujiro's guts like a lump of bad rice. //Don't you?// He remembered blood curling into rainwater, into earth and wood and tatami. The rush of the opponent past him and the sure, safe knowledge that the other was already dead. The comfort of the sword hilt in his fist.  
  
"I...don't know yet," he said, staring down at the wet plate he was holding.   
  
Sagara-san gulped audibly. "Oh shit, sorry. I forgot."  
  
Only Sagara-san would do something so wonderfully thoughtless. Soujiro gave him a smile and stacked his plate in the growing pile by the tub. "Not at all," he said cheerfully, reaching for another plate.  
  
He blinked. There was that intense look again; Sagara-san had set down his own plate and was gazing across the washtub at Soujiro. The look was accompanied by an equally intense energy that radiated off Sagara-san like heat off a fire. It was hard to read, though, what kind of emotion caused that particular energy.  
  
"You know, that smile," said Sagara-san quietly, "was one of the things I used to hate most about you."  
  
For the first time in his life, Soujiro was completely at a loss for a response. His throat seized up. The only think he could think of doing was running away. He dropped the plate into the tub with a loud noise that echoed in the quiet night, and half-spun, starting to get up from his crouch.  
  
With astonishing speed, Sagara-san's hand was suddenly around Soujiro's small wrist. The startled young man, so unexpectedly checked, lost his balance.  
  
Both of them yelped as Soujiro toppled backwards into the half-filled tub, with a loud splash and crashing of plates.  
  
Sputtering, Soujiro tried to get up and get his clothes sorted out at the same time. The yukata, heavy with water, had tangled in his legs, and the sash was loosening. If he hadn't wound it round his shoulders it would have fallen off by now. Soujiro half rose, but the water sucked at his robe, dragging him down again. Before he could flop back down, a steadying hand landed firmly on the small of his back. Blinking, he turned to look into Sagara-san's face.   
  
The older man was hardly more than an inch away from him. Soujiro could feel Sagara-san's breath on his face, warm and a little sharp from the tea they had taken to cleanse their mouths. Sagara-san's lips parted, and Soujiro's own lips unconsciously repeated the gesture.  
  
Soujiro didn't know what made him do it, but he tipped forward just a tiny bit and he closed his eyes as his mouth touched Sagara-san's. It was a languid but brief kiss; he drew away after only a few moments. Avoiding Sagara-san's gaze, he pulled himself out of the tub, water streaming off the robe.  
  
He searched for something to say as he stepped up onto the back verandah, leaking water into the wood. It was useless; he didn't even know what to think, let alone what to say. All the things that had been said and done in the past few minutes were like a dream from which he was slowly waking.  
  
There was a soft sound behind him, but he didn't move as Sagara-san came up to stand right by the verandah, a move which put his head on a level with the back of Soujiro's neck. Sagara-san's warm breath feathered across Soujiro's short ponytail as the fighter said quietly, "I don't hate you now. I don't know *what* I think about you. But I don't hate you."  
  
"I don't hate you, either," whispered Soujiro.  
  
He gasped as Sagara-san abruptly pressed his cheek against Soujiro's wet hair. "We're square, then. C'mon. I've got a spare jacket and pants somewhere." He bounded up onto the verandah and strode into the house. Soujiro followed, suddenly blushing.  
  
* * *  
  
Next morning Soujiro was awakened by what he thought at first was the chatter of birds. He soon realized that it was the noise of the townspeople passing outside, chattering as they went about their business. It was a persistent, but not unpleasant noise.   
  
The sun slanted in golden bars across his body; it was still fairly early. Soujiro turned over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.  
  
Last night Sagara-san had heated water for him, as an apology for giving him a dunking in the first place. It had been a long time since he'd had a proper bath. How delicious it had been to go to bed clean, and in a fresh though rather threadbare set of clothes. He was comfortable with the restrictive Chinese collar, being used to the buttoned-up Western shirt he had always worn inside his gi.   
  
Also, somewhat to his embarrassment, Sagara-san had washed his clothes while Soujiro had had his pre-dinner nap. They ought to be dry by now.  
  
I don't hate you.  
  
He had kissed Sagara-san. The thought made him hot all over.  
  
How had that happened?  
  
//I wanted to.//  
  
There was no denying that Sagara-san was handsome, in his own way. The wild mane, the red bandanna, the fierce brown eyes, that stubborn unshaven chin. Soujiro closed his eyes and imagined running his hands over Sagara-san's powerful shoulders, kissing the tanned skin. Making Sagara-san want him.   
  
Please me, boy.  
  
Soujiro's eyes shot open again. His skin burned as if remembering Shishio-san's touch.  
  
No, making peace was one thing. Seduction was something entirely different.  
  
And Soujiro had sworn to himself that, along with the sword, he would give up his other strange little obsession. Soujiro had learned how to handle a man as well as he could handle a sword. And despite his seemingly blind loyalty, he had a strong will. He would never have gone to Shishio-san's bed if he had not wanted to. He *liked* pleasing someone this way, liked seducing and being desired.  
  
It had been a very long time. Last night he had been tired, and indulged himself. That had been a mistake, and a betrayal of Sagara-san's newfound trust. It must never happen again. Soujiro almost wished Liu Chen had agreed to Sagara-san's proposed night of drinking and gambling; it would have prevented last night's mishap.  
  
The thought nudged something in Soujiro's mind, and he realized that Sagara-san had never had a chance to tell the story of how he and Liu Chen became friends. What was a Shao Rin monk? Sagara-san had said they were all fighters, like the warrior monks of Mount Hiei perhaps. But those were violent and greedy, while Liu Chen seemed quite nice, except of course when he was fighting.  
  
Perhaps he should ask about it today. That would take both their minds off what had happened last night.   
  
One leisurely stretch, and Soujiro slipped out of bed. He headed for the little kitchen: some tea and fish for breakfast would be nice. It would also be a pleasant little surprise for Sagara-san.  
  
One of the kitchen windows had a little ledge, and on it a flounder had been laid open and left to dry. Soujiro had not noticed it yesterday. He wondered if it was Sagara-san or Liu Chen who had done it. No matter. He set to work.  
  
Cups and plates in one cupboard; well, there was a space for plates, but all the plates and bowls were outside, drying on top of the overturned tub. Soujiro fetched them, and stacked them, saving two smaller plates and two bowls to lay on the table.  
  
Rice pot, little sack of rice, ladle, firewood, cooking niche...Soujiro found them all and was soon squatting outside at the cooking alcove, fanning the flames under the happily bubbling rice pot. He hummed under his breath, a perky tune with dirty words, something Yumi-san had taught him.  
  
Well, aren't we domestic.  
  
The voice had only spoken inside his head, and Soujiro knew it. Yet he still jerked upright and turned, as if Shishio-san were actually there behind him.  
  
Weak. You're just as weak as you were when I found you. Worse--you didn't know any better. Now you're just a goddamn housewife.  
  
//Better than a whore,// Soujiro protested silently. //Better than a whore and a murderer.//  
  
Shishio-san's breath on his face, even imagined, was a good deal hotter than Sagara-san's, harsh and raw. You really believe that? In your-- in Shishio-san's mouth the word turned foul --heart? Tell me, boy. Which *felt* better? The memory of Shishio-san's dry tongue ran across Soujiro's cheekbone, and the young man felt a shudder of weird pleasure.  
  
Suddenly Shishio-san's presence was gone. Soujiro drew a long shaky breath, and felt his cheek with trembling fingers. But there was no mark there.  
  
* * *  
  
The smell of cooking rice and frying fish soon brought Sagara-san downstairs, and by that time Soujiro had composed himself.   
  
As usual, the fighting man was bare-chested, only wearing blue pants that didn't quite cover his ankles. His feet were bare as well. He had not yet donned his bandanna, and he kept pushing his shaggy dark hair out of his face.  
  
"Man, that smells good." Sagara-san blinked when he saw Soujiro crouched by the clay alcove. "Hey, you're not supposed to be doing that! You're a guest, ya know!"  
  
Beautiful, clueless Sagara-san. Soujiro gave him a gentle smile. "I just felt useless being in this nice house and doing nothing," he said.  
  
Sagara-san looked at him for a long while. "Sometimes, you really remind me of him," the older man said softly.  
  
There was no doubt in Soujiro's mind who "he" was, or what that wistful look meant.   
  
"Breakfast is nearly ready," he said, avoiding Sagara-san's eye. "Will you help me set the table, Sagara-san?"  
  
-end 3- 


	4. Two Steps Forward

Two Wings - An RK fanfic by Peregrine Vision 4 - Two Steps Forward  
  
"Hey, you're not eating."  
  
"Oh..." Soujiro blinked down at his plate. "I'm...all right. Just not hungry." He gave Sagara-san a small smile. "I'm sorry. I'm wasting your fish..."  
  
"Is this about last night?"  
  
"E--Eh?" Trust Sagara-san not to skate around a topic.  
  
Sagara-san put down chopsticks and bowl, reaching across the table to take Soujiro's chin in his hand. The unexpected touch, plus Soujiro's conditioning, stirred a heat in him. Blood rose to his cheeks. He made one last effort, averting his eyes and drawing away.  
  
"You playing some kind of game?" There was quiet anger in Sagara-san's voice, and now he caught Soujiro's wrist. "You play shy maiden and try to run away, and then you kiss me, and now you're all shy again? Is this some kind of sick thing you made up now that you can't kill people anymore?"  
  
"No!" Soujiro tugged halfheartedly; he could have pulled free if he wanted to, but he didn't. Protest as he might, he liked Sagara-san's rough palm against the sensitive skin of his wrist. Sagara-san's words hurt, cutting to the core of him that was not yet healed, that he feared would never heal. But that touch was worth the cutting words.  
  
Sex was worse than the sword. One can never assume that just one little death will make no difference. One may not say, "just one limb more; if I cut off one little hand nothing bad should happen". But when you want someone's body instead of their life, it's so easy to steal another touch, another kiss, a tiny brush of skin on skin, and without warning both parties are tangled in the futon wondering what had happened.  
  
"Did you mean it, then?" demanded Sagara-san.  
  
"Mean what? Sagara-san--" Soujiro finally gathered his nerve and pulled his hand free "--I kissed you because I wanted to, but I don't know why, or how I feel about you. I'm not sure. Don't ask me now--last night was my mistake, and I'm sorry, but..."  
  
Sagara-san pulled Soujiro into his lap, close enough so that a tender part of Soujiro brushed against a very hard part of Sagara-san. Soujiro gasped and struggled, which only brought more friction.  
  
"Sagara-san, what are you--" The taller man stopped him with a rough kiss.  
  
"It's a mistake we can both make," Sagara-san murmured harshly against his lips. "It's been so damn *long*--"  
  
Breakfast abandoned, they scrambled away from the table, kissing frantically. Soujiro wrapped his arms round Sagara-san's neck. Then he squeaked as he felt his feet leave the ground. He panicked momentarily as he realized that Sagara-san had scooped him up, like a baby, or--his face got hot again--a bride.  
  
Sagara-san carried him up the stairs. Soujiro didn't like this at all. He wasn't anywhere near the ground; he couldn't get a foothold anywhere. He was completely at Sagara-san's mercy, and it scared him.  
  
"Hey, relax." Sagara-san nuzzled soothingly at Soujiro's neck. "I know what you're thinking. Kenshin used to freak out every time I did this."  
  
Soujiro's mouth fell open. "You...you and Himura-san...?" Sagara-san stopped his mouth again. The man was a surprisingly expert kisser--or maybe not surprisingly, considering.  
  
There was an ancient, traditional opium couch in the upstairs room, and this had been converted into a bed by the simple method of bundling a futon into it. Obviously Sagara-san had not bothered to tidy it up before he went down for breakfast. The rumpled, disordered sheets and few scattered pillows only added to the effect. The whole bed looked horribly decadent. Soujiro had an all-too-clear image of himself in that bed, naked, legs spread as Sagara-san--  
  
Apparently Sagara-san had also had similar thoughts, because he growled and unloaded Soujiro on top of the whole pile of sheets and pillows without a care for order. He attacked Soujiro's Chinese jacket as he did, cursing the Chinese and their damn tight collars and their stupid knotty buttons. Finally he had both jacket and pants off. He pulled back a little, looking Soujiro over, and Soujiro heard him draw in a breath.  
  
Shishio-san's conditioning had been more thorough than he knew--Soujiro suddenly became aware that he had relaxed into an unconscious pose, his limbs arranged to present the most pleasing composition. He had seen Yumi-san do this with her own body. It was rather like ikebana, only with a human instead of a few flowers.  
  
It certainly seemed to be effective, at least where Sagara-san was concerned. He was staring at Soujiro as if he couldn't decide whether to pounce, or admire for a few more moments.  
  
Sitting up, Soujiro reached for the other man's pants. The Chinese trousers required no fastening; they had a string in the waistband, which could be untied and pulled loose easily. Soujiro did this, getting up onto his knees in front of Sagara-san to do it better.   
  
He couldn't help showing his own admiration as the clothes fell to the floor. Sagara-san's body was beautiful, the line of his belly, hips and powerful legs melding into each other without a spare bulge, the skin tanned and supple, with very few scars. Wonderingly Soujiro ran his hand along one hipbone, making Sagara-san shudder. He bent his head to kiss the skin, and his hair, fallen free of its tie, fell forward to brush against Sagara-san's thigh.  
  
Sagara-san's hands slipped into Soujiro's hair. "Mmm, Souji..." murmured Sagara-san, crawling into the bed as well. They kissed again, hard, Sagara-san moving his kisses down Soujiro's neck, to slide a strong tongue against the pale flesh. Soujiro shuddered and moaned. Always before he had taken pleasure with pain, Shishio-san's caresses as damaging as they were arousing. To have so much pleasure, without the pain to dull it, was a delicious shock.  
  
Sagara-san leaned against the railing at the head of the couch, pulling Soujiro up against his body. Soujiro rubbed himself along the sleek abdominals, his tender round bottom sliding back and forth along Sagara-san's shaft.  
  
"Ah..." Sagara-san clutched him closer, almost devouring Soujiro's neck. "Oh, God, Souji..."  
  
Methodically Soujiro worked his way down Sagara-san's gorgeous body until he came to the straining shaft. He ignored his own aching erection; it could wait a little. He slipped his tongue under the head, taking it into his mouth.   
  
The skin jumped under his lips. Sagara-san's hands dug into Soujiro's hair, and he heard the older man give a heartfelt groan.  
  
He began to make his way downwards along the formidable length, sucking slowly but thoroughly, working the flesh with his tongue, and, deeper, his throat. Sagara-san moaned and writhed, trying desperately not to thrust into Soujiro's mouth. Soujiro held him down firmly by the hips and sucked, and licked, and twisted his head a little, making Sagara-san give out a hoarse little scream of pleasure.  
  
It was only a few seconds later that Sagara-san gasped, "Souji--stop--I'm going to come--I'm--"  
  
Soujiro did not withdraw. He pulled back barely an inch, to loosen his hold, and took the warm thick fluid straight down his throat. It was delicious, not in the least like Shishio-san's bitter seed, which always burned on the way down.  
  
Finally he released Sagara-san. Almost instantly he was pinned under the taller man, his wrists pinioned above his head in Sagara-san's iron fingers. He gasped and arched as Sagara-san nudged his thighs apart with one knee. "A-already?" he managed to say.   
  
Sagara-san grinned. Soujiro glanced down the length of their bodies, and was amazed to see that the other man was quickly recovering his earlier erection. "D-don't you need to rest first?" he stammered.  
  
"Didn't Kenshin ever tell you?" Sagara-san murmured, almost purring, into Soujiro's ear. He ran a tongue around the rim. "My best advantage in a fight...is my stamina." Gently his teeth closed on the ear, and he released Soujiro's wrists, sliding his hands down Soujiro's back to press the young man tightly against him.  
  
"Sagara-san!" Soujiro wrapped his arms round the strong neck and buried his face in the dark mass of hair that fell over both of them. It smelled...wild; not *bad*, but very like an animal. It stirred something primal deep in Soujiro's gut, and he writhed in response.  
  
The other man groaned at the movement of Soujiro's hips against his own. Already his cock was hard again. He slid his hands down further, briefly squeezing Soujiro's rear--the young man could not help making a high surprised noise--and moving smoothly down Soujiro's thighs to spread them.  
  
To Soujiro's amazement, Sagara-san paused. Soujiro lifted dazed blue-gray eyes to the other's dismayed face.  
  
"Souji--" Clearly frustrated, Sagara-san stroked the inside of Soujiro's thighs. "God, I want to--but I--I don't have any..." He rubbed his fingers together to demonstrate.  
  
Soujiro could have laughed. "Is that all?" he said. He reached down with one hand and slid a hand along Sagara-san's length. The other man hissed.   
  
Suddenly Soujiro squeezed his thighs together and twisted his body. With a sharp cry Sagara-san fell to the bed, as Soujiro rose up, their positions reversed. Sagara-san stared up at Soujiro's flushed face, his breath knocked from him.  
  
"I'm used to taking it dry, Sagara-san," breathed Soujiro, leaning close to his lover's shocked face. "I've been doing it for *years*." He sat up, lifted himself up onto his knees, settled himself, and then sank downwards onto Sagara-san's cock.  
  
The pain was expected, and only served to sting his desire to full life, as it had done before. With soft moans and slow rocking movements Soujiro impaled himself. Sagara-san could only clutch feebly at the younger man's hips.  
  
Early on Soujiro had learned what pleased Shishio-san, what would please any man. He had learned this as quickly as he had learned the sword, and as thoroughly. Every part of the body had muscles with their own purpose, and he had learned to control every one of those that could be controlled, as well as some which most people thought could not. He flexed his spine and tightened his legs, and Sagara-san arched backward into the pillows and let out a long shuddering moan.  
  
Soon the bleeding began. It always did, and with Sagara-san's size it was only to be expected. This time, though, as Soujiro bled, his pain began to ease. The blood, instead of drying with heat and caking and making him sticky and the entry harder, began to coat him inside. Sagara-san's phallus slid back and forth more easily inside him. Soon he was rocking in earnest, his head thrown back, gasping for breath as he rode Sagara-san's muscular body, rode and reveled in the freedom of pleasure without pain.  
  
"More, Souji," moaned Sagara-san, his eyes shut, his head digging backwards into the old pillows. "Please, God, Souji, give me *more*--"  
  
Closing his own eyes, Soujiro drove his body down and forward onto the rampant erection, his mouth open in a cry he could not voice, as Sagara-san groaned and growled and sobbed underneath him.  
  
He was suddenly hauled close, and clutched to Sagara-san's broad chest, as once more their positions were flipped. Sagara-san rolled on top of him, panting, his dark eyes wild as he stared down at Soujiro, one large rough hand gently pushing a pale thigh backward, while the other grasped the small of Soujiro's back and pressed the younger man up against the older.  
  
"Rurouni--"panted Sagara-san, thrusting till tears of ecstasy came to Soujiro's eyes. Soujiro cried in frantic desire as Sagara-san pinned him against the bed with thrust after sliding thrust, his mouth demanding against Soujiro's jaw, his hands now vagrant across Soujiro's eager skin. "My sweet--little--rurouni...! Give it--my little warrior! Give it to me!"  
  
"Sa...Sa...Sano-san!" gasped Soujiro. He could not say anything more, not even Sagara-san. He could find nothing else to say, even curses, and he cried that name over and over until the cries became screams. "Sano-san--Sano-san--*Sano-san*--SANO-SAAAAAAAANNNNN...!!!"  
  
With a final terrible shudder, Sagara-san let out a roar like a tortured lion, and as the hot, sweet fluid pulsed into his body Soujiro let himself go, shrieking as if he were being killed instead of pleasured beyond imagining.   
  
His screams soon died down to sobs, and the sobs to long weak breaths. The breaths came all the harder for Sagara-san's weight on top of his chest. Sagara-san was also breathing hard and deep, his head securely tucked into Soujiro's neck, his arms coming round the young man as he withdrew his spent cock from inside of Soujiro. With a sigh of utter contentment he snuggled into Soujiro's hesitant embrace.  
  
"You okay?" he murmured, already drowsy.  
  
This was a surprise. Soujiro was not used to conversation in bed. Usually everyone just fell asleep, or got up immediately to clean up and get on with the business of the day.  
  
"Um...I believe so," he hazarded, not really sure what Sagara-san was asking.   
  
In actuality, he was beginning to feel the acute consequences of their love-play. It was funny how, even as Soujiro's muscles grew hard and resistant to pain over time, this particular part of him never really reconciled itself to its constant abuse.  
  
Or maybe it was that he hadn't done this in over six years.  
  
Sleepily, Sagara-san nuzzled his collarbone. "You never give a straight answer, do you, Kensh--" He stopped, and recovered himself, but in that moment Soujiro understood.  
  
He wondered at his sudden romanticism. Had he expected any different? Why was he so disappointed? Perhaps because the pleasure had been so unexpected, that the rejection had also been unexpected. That was what happened to those who tried pleasure without pain. The truth was, there was no such thing. There were many forms of pain. One paid for the pleasure eventually. It was the way of the world.  
  
Soujiro gave a low laugh. How quickly his old pessimism returned, when faced with a bad moment. Clearly he was not as healed as he had thought.  
  
"Better than a whore", huh? said an acid voice in his head. Soujiro just managed not to give a start. Shishio-san laughed his dry, sensual, cruel laugh. You're no better than you used to be, Sou. You're no better than you ever were.  
  
"Soujiro?" Sagara-san asked, tentatively.   
  
It was a moment before Soujiro could collect his thoughts. "Do--do you miss him very much?" asked Soujiro, evasively, cuddling the shaggy head close to him like a favorite dog. Sagara-san responded with another artless snuggle.  
  
"Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I get lonely..." He buried his face in Soujiro's neck, unwilling to talk further.  
  
"We all do, Sagara-san," Soujiro replied softly, staring up at the ceiling framed by the dark red wood of the bed. It was wrinkling in spots, from damp. He gazed at it for a while more.   
  
Shishio-san laughed in his head, long and loudly, echoed by Yumi-san's ladylike titter. Soujiro shut his eyes and strove to ignore them.  
  
"Are we still having breakfast?" He was surprised that he had actually managed to keep his voice neutral. He felt as if he should be shouting to drown out the other two. But the voices were dying away, falling silent again, until the next time they decided to taunt him.  
  
"Yeah, I'm hungry. Kinda forgot that." Sagara-san stretched, extremely slothfully, and rolled onto his back beside Soujiro. "Feels good in bed though." He nuzzled the crook of Soujiro's arm, causing a lovely tingle.  
  
"I'm sorry I stained your sheets..."  
  
"Ah, no problem. Spunk washes off pretty easily, and it doesn't stain like blood or ink."  
  
"But blood stains--they are hard to remove, aren't they? And I bled rather freely--"  
  
With a choking curse, Sagara-san was out of the bed. A surprised Soujiro crawled out after him, wincing a little.   
  
"What is it, Sagara-san? Should we take the sheets--?"  
  
"I thought you said you were okay!" Sagara-san said angrily.   
  
"Sagara-san--"  
  
"Don't *call* me that, dammit!"  
  
Soujiro inhaled sharply. His chest was seized with a sudden burning tightness that was almost like pain. It had been a long time since he was angry. And it made him very angry to think, even for a moment, that Shishio-san had been right about something so personal.  
  
"What do you want me to call you, then?" he flashed back. "Perhaps I should call you 'Sano'! But why stop there? I ought to grow my hair a little longer, dye it red, slash my cheek! Isn't that what you want?"   
  
Sagara-san stared at him. The angry expression disappeared, to be replaced by one of remorse. But it was far too late for penitence.  
  
"You're the same as Shishio-san," accused Soujiro. "Why should you care if I bleed? You got what you wanted. It isn't me that you want in any case." He snatched up his borrowed clothes and put on the long jacket, which came down to his knees. "I don't know what happened between you and Himura-san, and I'm not meant to know. It isn't my business. But if you want him so much, then go back to him and don't use me anymore. I'm tired of being used. I've been used all my life."  
  
He fled downstairs and hid behind his little screen, burying himself in the blankets. He wished he could cry. Now he didn't know *what* to believe.   
  
For so long he had devoted himself to Shishio-san's Darwinian ideals. After Himura-san had given him the gift, and the burden, of atonement, he had begun to believe that the world might be a better place than he had thought. His wanderings, and the happy, peaceful Japan that he had seen, helped reinforce that belief. But now...  
  
//What if it *isn't* really the world?// he wondered. //What if these things...only happen to me?//  
  
It was a sickening thought. To be abused for the rest of his life...while the rest of the world went on in happy, ignorant contentment...Soujiro gave a long, deep shudder.  
  
He had wanted it so much. Had *wanted* Sagara-san's hands on him. Those strong fighter's hands, relaxed from their clenched tautness into lover's caresses on his skin...how wonderful they had been. And what a pleasant surprise to find Sagara-san a more able and experienced lover than he had thought!  
  
Soujiro quite choked with bitterness. Of course there was no question of love on either side; it was absurd. It was pure carnal need that had pushed them into each other's arms. Yet even so, one would think Sagara-san would at least have the courtesy to keep his fantasies to himself, and not shove them in Soujiro's face like that. He might be a libertine, but he didn't want to be a whore again.  
  
He heard Sagara-san's light step on the stairs, and shuffling sounds as the other man apparently settled in front of the screen. "Souji--"  
  
"Don't call me that," Soujiro echoed him, acidly. His cheerful, innocent mask had chipped and fallen away, but he no longer cared. Sagara-san had seen what lay beneath it already.  
  
"You'll need to wash out the damage I did, you know." The voice from behind the screen was light, but with a forced lightness.  
  
"I'm all right," Soujiro replied coolly, ignoring the burning pain in his rear. "You needn't worry."  
  
There was a strained pause. "Look, I'm sorry, all right?" Sagara-san exploded suddenly, sounding thoroughly frustrated. "It's just that I've been lonely, and you've been lonely, and I guess I'm not quite over Kenshin, even after five years."  
  
"Why don't you..."  
  
"Because he's married that Jou-chan by now!" There was a bang, as of knuckles on wood. "Because he doesn't love me! Because he never *did* love me, not like...her...!" Then the rough voice, sounding unusually soft and miserable, "Because I couldn't stand seeing him again, now that he's so happy and doesn't need me anymore..."  
  
Sitting up, Soujiro pulled back one fold of the panel to reveal Sagara-san with his long body folded in on itself in an an attitude of complete despair. His long uneven mane, freed of the bandanna, hung down round his shoulders and over his face. The broad shoulders quivered a little with a suppressed sob and then were still.  
  
"Sagara-san--" Hesitantly, Soujiro reached out, unsure of the other's reaction.  
  
The street fighter lifted his head to reveal reddened but dry eyes. Quite childishly he held out his arms for Soujiro, who crawled shyly into his lap and curled up there. Sagara-san hugged him so tightly his bones creaked. The sensation was oddly pleasant...perhaps because it was so unusual. Sex was something Soujiro was accustomed to, but hugs were quite new to him.  
  
"I'm sorry," muttered Sagara-san. "I guess I screwed up. I was trying to be nice, and everything, but I guess I just don't have that much self-control." He nuzzled into Soujiro's soft hair. "I've been wanting to do that since yesterday, when I saw you in my big yukata...it just reminded me so much of when Kenshin went around the dojo in Jou-chan's dad's house clothes. You kinda look like him, see. The big eyes, and the cute little smile, and your build and the way you walk...it was kinda like having him back for a little while. I was just being selfish."  
  
Soujiro put his arms round Sagara-san's neck. He thought he was beginning to understand his new friend.  
  
//Sagara-san says what he thinks. He does things not because he has a plan, but just because he wants to. He doesn't have to have a reason for what he does. Not everyone has to know exactly what they're doing all the time.// The memory of last night's kiss was proof of that.  
  
"I'm sorry, Souji. I didn't mean to hurt you like that."  
  
Soujiro blushed a little at the nickname. "It's quite all right, Sagara-san," he murmured back.  
  
The other man gave a little shake of his head, much like an annoyed horse. "Would you mind not calling me Sagara-san?" he said. "I feel like a respectable citizen when you do, and I don't like it at all." He grinned at Soujiro's startled look, and the young rurouni had to laugh.  
  
"Would...'Sano-san' be all right?"  
  
"That's fine." Sano-san gave Soujiro a final squeeze. "C'mon, I'll get a washtub set up. Don't fall into it before you're ready, though," he teased.  
  
Soujiro was alone in the tiny washroom before he remembered he still had not asked Sano-san about Liu Chen. He smiled a little. Learning to be emotional was certainly rattling his focus.  
  
-end 4- 


	5. Beginning To Journey

Two Wings A Rurouni Kenshin fanfic by Peregrine Vision  
  
5 - Beginning to Journey  
  
If there had been nothing to do but stay in the house, and no one to see but Sano-san, Soujiro might have found things too uncomfortable to tolerate. Instead, he was kept busy by a number of things.  
  
One of these was learning the necessary Cantonese to get by every day: "how much", "which way is...", "yes", "no", "help", "my friend is the chief of police" and other useful phrases. Sano-san, with a twinkle in his eye, offered to teach Soujiro swear words as well, but Soujiro gracefully declined.  
  
Another one was taking lessons in Chinese cooking from Liu Chen. Apparently it wasn't enough to know how to cook; you had to know how to manage your time, budget your money and argue a market vendor down. And those vendors were *frightening*. Liu Chen never raised his voice, but the butcher they were buying from on one occasion grew so agitated that Soujiro was sure the man would take his enormous meat cleaver to the both of them. Never mind that one was of the famous Shao Lin and the other had been a secret terror of Japan.  
  
Housekeeping was easy; Soujiro was used to it. Sano-san was surprisingly good at it too--when he was feeling motivated. Mostly he wasn't.  
  
So Soujiro's days were comfortably occupied.   
  
Nights were another matter. Fortunately the days usually tired him out, and he would fall into his futon already half asleep. But after a quiet day, when there hadn't been much to do and Liu Chen hadn't paid a visit, Soujiro would lie still in his bed, feeling memories flow over his skin like water, or fire....or human hands.  
  
Funny that he remembered so many things not so much with his mind as with his skin. The burning welts of childhood beatings on his back, Shishio-san's searing hands on his body, the steel wind from Himura-san's swordstrokes. But the ones that made him most uneasy were the freshest.  
  
Sano-san's hands, and mouth, on him. Sano-san, hard and strong and *large*, inside of him. The first shy kiss, at the tub of dishes, and the breath on his neck afterward.  
  
//I don't hate you.//  
  
Soujiro had realized what it was about Sano-san that drew him so powerfully. Sano-san was everything Soujiro wished for most. He was carefree and open-hearted; he seemed to have left long years of hate and horror (no less traumatizing than Soujiro's) behind. He was brave and fiercely loyal, a great fighter who loved fighting only for its own sake--for the joy of the challenge, not the power of the kill. He was loving and kind and very gentle, in a clumsy way. Sometimes Sano-san would fall asleep outside, or on the floor, or the stairs, or...just anywhere, really. That took trust: also a lot of self-confidence. Two more things Soujiro wished he had.  
  
These introspective nights were rare, but no less painful for that. There was no question of Sano-san ever inviting Soujiro back into his bed, not after the first disaster. Things between them were a little strained for a few days, but the cloud soon blew over. Still, that brief fit of lust had left a deep impression on Soujiro.  
  
He wanted more. He wanted it to be slower next time, more passionate and less reckless. He wanted to curl into Sano-san's comforting warmth afterward, something he'd never done with anyone before. He wanted to fall asleep in the bigger man's arms, and wake up to those laughing brown eyes.  
  
But "next time" was no longer possible. Not after last time.  
  
Thoughts like these tortured Soujiro during the wide-awake nights. Sometimes it even happened in daylight, when he was particularly close to Sano-san physically, or caught him in some unknowing pose of exuberance or unusual pensiveness. Then every fiber of Soujiro's tattered soul would yearn toward the other man, the very *alive*ness of him, the warmth and the solidity. But Soujiro swallowed these feelings and forced his face into its usual pleasant smile.  
  
All in all, though, it was a good life. They often had little dinners together in the evenings (although with Liu Chen cooking the dinners were hardly *little*) and exchanged stories. The dinner customarily started with Liu Chen arriving early at the house to prepare the food. Soujiro helped him, since Sano-san usually left the police house late.  
  
Another informal custom was for Sano-san and Liu Chen to spar a little before dinner. Not as violently as the first time, of course--Liu Chen could always be relied on to remind Sano-san of the presence of guests in the house. Soujiro came to look forward to the play-fights, actually laughing and applauding when they were over.  
  
Liu Chen always won, of course. Sano-san grumbled and growled about this, but it was clear how much he admired his short Chinese friend. Soujiro did too--it pleased him to be able to admire someone's martial skills without being threatened by them.  
  
One afternoon Liu Chen and Soujiro teamed up for a spectacular meal--a Chinese/Japanese cultural combination, Liu Chen gleefully named it. There was every kind of seafood imaginable, in a variety of sauces, plus chicken, meat, noodles and the ever-present fried rice. Soujiro skewered vegetables and chicken parts and grilled them for yakitori. Liu Chen made crunchy egg noodles and seafood with vegetables in a thick sticky sauce. Rice balls stuffed with dried fish were grilled as well, and rolled in sheets of seaweed. Sweet-and-sour pork was offset by spicy jellyfish strips. And there were three different kinds of tea, Soujiro's favorite being the clear yellow roasted-barley tea--which could be taken in hot cups, or cooled with ice sent down from the mountain monasteries to the humble chapter house where Liu Chen lived with his fellows.  
  
They flopped down on the back steps and splashed themselves with cold water from a bucket, then lay back spread-eagled, like children after hard play. Soujiro couldn't stop laughing.   
  
"I can't wait! Do you think he'll be surprised?"  
  
Liu Chen was laughing too. His smile was amazing; it was a young grin that lit his face and made him look ten years younger. "I hope so. Or we will have worked like serving women for nothing!"  
  
Soujiro smiled up at the darkening sky. He felt full--not in his stomach, but in his chest, a feeling which swelled inside him and made his mouth stretch of its own accord. "I hope so too." Then he turned his head to look at Liu Chen. "Why are we doing this, again?"  
  
That made the little Chinese man fairly explode with laughter. "I do not believe you! You did everything without even asking what you were doing! Crazy Japanese boy! You are like a--a sheep!"  
  
"I am not!" In the past, Soujiro would have cut off his head for the remark. But the past was a different world, one he was learning to forget, and the thought of being a sheep was only funny.  
  
Besides, he probably couldn't have managed to cut Liu Chen's head off anyway. Not the way the other man fought.  
  
The little black eyes twinkled as they met Soujiro's. "Not what? Crazy, or a sheep?"  
  
"Both!" Soujiro sat up, dipped a hand into the bucket and threw the handful of water at Liu Chen, who laughed again. "Now tell me!"  
  
"You really didn't know?" Liu Chen sat up, grinning. "This is the day I met Xian Ho. Or he met me. Or rather, fell on me."  
  
"He WHAT?"  
  
But Liu Chen was off again and could not speak. When he finally got his breath, he shook his pigtailed head. "I think our friend should tell you himself, tonight. Now we need to have new clothes. We smell like food. He may eat us by mistake; you know how he is."  
  
That gave Soujiro another laughing fit as he headed for his little screened-off "room" to change.  
  
* * *  
  
Sano-san charged in through the door with his usual greeting.  
  
"Argh! Come on, prayer-bead-rattler, I'm ready for..." He stopped and blinked, amazed, at Liu Chen and Soujiro standing by the table, which was so piled with food it almost seemed to groan under the weight.  
  
"Omedetou, Sano-san!" Soujiro burst out. Admittedly, "congratulations" wasn't entirely the appropriate greeting, but it was the only thing he knew to say, and he felt like shouting *something*.  
  
"Uh..." Sano-san blinked. "It's my birthday already?"  
  
"Er, no." Soujiro blushed a little, embarrassed.   
  
"Silly son of a backward farmer," Liu Chen teased. "I see you have already forgotten the day of your first humiliating defeat at my hands."  
  
"Eh?" Then cognizance dawned in Sano-san's face. "You mean--a year already?"  
  
Liu Chen grinned.  
  
To Soujiro's surprise, Sano-san paused for a moment. Just for that moment, a look came over his face that was not familiar. Regret? Uncertainty? Soujiro was good at reading people, but only in battle. He had never had Himura-san's talent for reading people's emotions.  
  
Then the look vanished and a huge grin took its place. "Well, that's something to celebrate, all right!" roared Sano-san. "I just hope you brought something to drink, 'cause we're partying hard tonight!"  
  
Chinese dinner was not the structured ritual Soujiro was used to. He liked just loading his plate and eating everything on it as he pleased. Sometimes it seemed as if Sano-san tried to eat everything at once.  
  
"Mph, mrf, mmm." Sano-san swallowed and took a gulp of barley tea. "Pass me the onigiri, willya, Souji?"  
  
Soujiro blushed again at the nickname, especially when Liu Chen raised an eyebrow. But he held the plate of rice balls firmly. "Wait," he said. "First, I want to hear this story. I asked Liu Chen how you met, but he refused to tell me."  
  
Sano-san rolled his eyes. "He would," he said, nudging the little Chinese man with an elbow. "He likes acting modest with guests, but he never lets me forget how much better he is than me." He nudged Liu Chen again. "So far."  
  
"Will you tell me what happened?"  
  
Sano-san smiled at him, and Soujiro felt the most curious sensation, as if something small with wings was trapped beneath his breastbone.  
  
"Really wanna know, huh? Funny..." The smile changed into his usual arrogant grin, and he leaned forward and grabbed the plate of onigiri. "Food first. A good story always needs feeding."  
  
Feigning reluctance, Soujiro let Sano-san take the plate, then loaded a fresh heap of sauce-smothered noodles into his own bowl and leaned a little forward, ready for the story.  
  
"Remember I told you I was up in Mongolia?" Sano-san bit the onigiri almost in half. "Mmm, um. This's really good. You made it?"  
  
"Yes, yes." Soujiro was getting impatient. "You were there for the fighting, I remember. Go on, please."  
  
"I wasn't kidding, either. Those Huns know how to fight. No technique, but you've gotta be fast on your feet or get a fist in your ear. And that's if they like you."  
  
"What happens if they don't like you?" asked Soujiro, and took a mouthful of noodle.  
  
Sano-san and Liu Chen both chuckled. "Then it's a sword in your guts for you. If the blow doesn't kill you instantly, the rust on it will--eventually."  
  
"They sound like practical people," Soujiro said, nodding his head in approval.  
  
"Yeah, they are. And they liked me. Lived with them for a while; pitched tents, rode one of their hairy horses, wore their clothes too." Sano-san grinned through a mouth full of squid and fried rice, and took a gulp of tea. "I smelled just like one of them; you couldn't tell us apart."  
  
"That was the problem," Liu Chen interrupted, laughing. Soujiro blinked at him.   
  
"Shut up, you. I'm telling the story."  
  
It was amazing how Sano-san ate and talked at the same time. Soujiro was also stuffing himself (with rather more decorum of course), but it seemed as if Sano-san didn't even stop to breathe. He emptied his bowl straight into his mouth, shoving everything in with his chopsticks, then refilled it with a little of everything on the table. Liu Chen rolled his eyes at the hungry street fighter.  
  
"You can see where he learned his manners as well."  
  
"Nah," disclaimed Sano-san, nabbing an errant shrimp that had fallen from the bowl. "I was *born* eating."  
  
Soujiro laughed. He could well believe it.  
  
"Anyway, we were going through this village to trade--the tribes make their own food, but sometimes they like to pick up pretty things. Woven cloth, trinkets, things like that, y'know? Well, usually they rob rich travellers, but they're mostly friendly with the villages. More lucrative business. Like you said, Souji, practical people."   
  
Soujiro smiled. He was beginning to love that name.  
  
"Well, when we got there, things were a bit different. There was this fuss going on. People dressed up like the Huns had been selling...stuff."  
  
"Stuff?" echoed Soujiro, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.   
  
Sano-san's eyes, for a moment, lingered on him. Not straight in the face; it was with a hot, nervous feeling in his belly that Soujiro realized Sano-san was looking at his *mouth*. Every pore on his skin prickled.  
  
Sano-san hastily stuffed something small with tentacles into his own mouth and went on. "Well, it was...drugs. Opium. And it was a...funny kind of opium; you smoked it too, but it was a sort of powder instead of the big caky chunks that opium usually comes in." Sano-san frowned, as if recollecting something unpleasant.   
  
"How did you know it was opium?" asked Soujiro. "There are other drugs that come into China."  
  
Sano-san looked grim. "I knew," he said darkly. "A...friend of mine used to make it."  
  
A...friend. That pause was enough to chill Soujiro. He knew full well what it meant. Yumi-san would use it all the time, talking of men she'd had, or who'd had her. Only she had always paused deliberately, a little twisted smile on her painted lips.  
  
He took a deep breath. //None of my business,// he told himself firmly. //It's none of my business.//  
  
"Of course," shrugged Sano-san, "she became my friend *after* she stopped making it. But that's another story." He gulped down some noodles and refilled his bowl of mixed rice. "So they were dressing up like the Huns, right, and the people from the village weren't too friendly with the real Huns when they got there." He coughed. "I, er, took care of it."  
  
Soujiro's eyes widened. "I am sure you did."  
  
Sano-san coughed again. "Well, at least the Huns' reputation was cleared, but the villagers couldn't handle the group who was selling the stuff. So I...had to chase them down the mountain."  
  
"You had to do nothing," said Liu Chen, smiling. "You chased them down the mountain because you were bored."  
  
"Yeah, I guess," said Sano-san, embarrassed. Then he smiled. "Yeah, I did. I wanted a change." He took a draught of cold barley tea, smacking his lips appreciatively. "I wanted a cause again. I wanted to be fighting *for* something again. I wanted to wake up in the morning and say, 'Let's get those guys!'"  
  
Unconsciously, Soujiro let out a breath. He felt overcome. Sano-san was beside him, being so very...well, so very *himself*, and he was right *there*, and just those two things were waking all these mad fluttering creatures in Soujiro's insides. It seemed very unfair. No fluttering creatures seemed to be bothering Sano-san.  
  
"Well, I caught up with them easily enough; they weren't expecting people to be tailing them, see. But I wasn't the only one after them, although I got there first."  
  
"They had been looting the monasteries around the mountains," Liu Chen said, taking up the story--apparently forgetting his earlier shyness. "Most of those places were quiet retreats with peaceful inhabitants who had never needed to fight. They could not defend themselves, and so they sent word to us, asking for help."  
  
Soujiro nodded, fascinated. It was like an adventure story: heroes and justice and the defence of innocents. He supposed that Himura-san's story was the same, and realized with a pang that if such a story was to be told, he and Shishio-san and the others would be the evil ones.   
  
"We posted scouts to watch for the bandits' approach. They came back, reporting that the false Huns were riding hard toward our monastery. We set out to meet them."  
  
"That was when the shit really started to fly," Sano-san said.  
  
"It was all his fault, of course," said Liu Chen serenely. Soujiro laughed at the ensuing splutter of tea.  
  
"What! You..."  
  
"Now, Xian Ho, do you categorically deny that you were right behind the bandits?"  
  
"No, but--"  
  
"And that you were dressed like them, riding a similar horse, and, I am sorry to say, smelling much the same?"  
  
"Hey--!"  
  
"Do you also deny that you made a flying leap for the leader of the group, but overshot entirely, and tackled the monk who was at the head of the oncoming defensive party instead?"  
  
Soujiro had to half twist and grasp the back of his chair, he was laughing so hard. "He didn't!"  
  
"Awful, awful aim," said Liu Chen, gravely shaking his head so his queue swung back and forth. "Shameful."  
  
"And that monk was you?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Soujiro doubled over, tears springing to his eyes. Sano-san poked him with his chopsticks. "It's not that funny!" Soujiro could only clutch his stomach and laugh harder in response.  
  
Liu Chen shook out his sleeves and crossed his arms. "It took quite a while to get things straightened out. It is said that Shaolin have the talent to spot a pure heart just by sight. That is not true. Even if it were, I would have had trouble seeing through all the layers of dirt!" He ducked as Sano-san swatted at his head.  
  
"That was a good fight you gave me," grinned Sano-san. "First time I'd lost a fistfight in a while."  
  
"But you didn't kill him," Soujiro said to Liu Chen, who looked shocked.  
  
"Of course not! We never kill unless there is no choice, and in that case the one who has killed must spend a month fasting and meditating to discover what can be done to heal his karma. Luckily Xian Ho was resilient enough to enlighten me on his position regarding the bandits."  
  
"Yeah," interjected Sano-san. "I just had breath enough left to call him an idiot for letting them get away."  
  
"And then he collapsed in the snow," laughed Liu Chen. His boyish smile faded. "But in my distraction, I had misled my brothers. They were only able to catch a few bandits, and the ringleaders escaped. After Xian Ho recovered, we tracked them to Canton, and have been waiting for a chance to catch them since."  
  
"Your little adventure was a stroke of luck for us, Souji," Sano-san said, grinning over his bowl. "If you hadn't raised the alarm, they'd have been able to drop off their shipment and carry another one of raw opium back to Japan. As it is, they'll have to rearrange all their plans. We arrested several of them and got names. Kiyooka got away, but I got a good look at his face." Sano-san looked grim. "He's not gonna escape me next time."  
  
"Us," said Liu Chen, smiling. Sano-san's expression brightened, and he nodded.  
  
Soujiro finished his tea and poured another cup. He held it up to his two friends. They raised theirs in silent reply.  
  
* * *  
  
Liu Chen had gone home; he had strict hours to keep, according to his discipline. Sano-san had washed the dishes in return for the dinner, and Soujiro was just getting ready for bed, when he noticed that Sano-san had not gone upstairs.  
  
"Sano-san?"  
  
The tall man was sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands. "A year," he said. "More than a year ago I sent them a letter...I said I'd be home...soon." He lifted his face and stared at, no, *through*, Soujiro.  
  
"But so what? What's there for me when I do go back? His wife, his kids, his house. His life. Not mine. Not...ours..."  
  
A nameless ache shivered through Soujiro's chest. His throat tight, he stared helplessly at Sano-san.  
  
"Sano-san..." he ventured, coming shyly toward the older man, "you...you have your own life, don't you? You have a place here, and you're important to the Cantonese police. You also have many friends. Himura-san was a part of your life, but only a part...right?"   
  
He lowered himself tentatively onto the stair a few steps below where Sano-san was sitting. Just close enough to show he was serious, but not close enough to touch. He didn't trust himself that far yet.  
  
"He was an important part of your life," he pressed on, "...but he cannot have been *all* of your life. Because you are still here. Is this not true?"  
  
"I...guess," murmured Sano-san.  
  
"Then your life is not his either, right?"  
  
"Yeah, it's not." Sano-san chuckled a little. "Definitely not."  
  
"But even with your separate lives--you are still friends. And friends want to be with their friends."  
  
Sano-san lifted his head. His eyes narrowed a tiny bit at Soujiro. "What's your point, Souji?"  
  
Soujiro cleared his throat. "I am saying, maybe Himura-san misses you too. He may be married and raising a family, but I am sure he wants to see you and know what you've been doing and what you've seen when you were away. Maybe," he essayed a small smile, "maybe he even wants to go out drinking."  
  
Sano-san looked at him for a long time, until Soujiro lowered his eyes. He felt naked under that gaze, and unhappy.  
  
Then Sano-san smiled. He didn't often smile; he had a big cheerful grin that sometimes made him look silly. This was a smile that brought out the shine in his chocolate eyes, and gave his face a maturity that was beautiful beyond words to Soujiro.  
  
Soujiro felt heat flood out from his chest, spreading up his neck and down his belly and even his legs, until he was a warm scarlet all over. Surely Sano-san would see; why couldn't he even control his own body anymore?  
  
"C'mere, you," said Sano-san, holding out an arm to him. Completely shamefaced, Soujiro crept meekly into the embrace. Sano-san put the other arm round him and he snuggled into the larger man's chest.   
  
Sano-san leaned his shaggy head against Soujiro's. "Thanks, So-ji."  
  
"You're welcome, Sano-san," Soujiro whispered back, his heart thumping. So-ji? That was the shortened version of Sano-san's casual "Souji", which was only partly a nickname. This sounded more like a love-name, and it made the blood rush to his head. Was this what it was like to be drunk?  
  
He felt a finger under his chin, tilting it gently upwards. He looked, surprised, into Sano-san's smiling eyes for a second, and then Sano-san kissed him.  
  
This kiss was different from the rough, fevered liplocks they had exchanged. This one was slow, and intense, and it seemed to draw out all the feelings inside him like a wire from a molten chunk of metal. Sano-san's tongue moved in Soujiro's mouth like a languid snake, and a delicious thrill shivered down his spine.  
  
After a long, mindless moment, Sano-san broke the kiss. Soujiro's breath hitched; he wanted so much more, and he knew Sano-san understood his need. Those brown eyes were so deep, searching his own.  
  
Then something went wrong; the other man's gaze slid away, Sano-san disentangled himself from Soujiro, and with a muttered "Good night," went upstairs.   
  
Soujiro was left on the stairs.   
  
He remembered how he'd felt several years ago, lying on the destroyed tatami floor at Himura-san's feet, his clothes and his lifelong beliefs torn to shreds. He felt as lost now as he had then.  
  
He realized that Sano-san was actually being gentlemanly. He had had Soujiro in his arms, and chose not to use him as he had that other time. He had decided that making Soujiro a substitute for Himura-san was not the honorable thing to do. So Sano-san had done the honorable thing.  
  
And it had made no difference. Not to the small vicious animal that was beginning to grow inside Soujiro. As he made his way back to his futon, as he curled forlornly in his blankets, Soujiro could feel it chewing away at his insides. He shut his eyes hard and curled up even more tightly. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could disappear.  
  
//I talked to him about his life. But what about *my* life? What is there for *me* to live for?//  
  
-end 5- 


	6. Catch The Tears

Two Wings A Rurouni Kenshin fanfic by Peregrine Vision  
  
6 - Catch the Tears  
  
Days passed, more days of alternately enjoying easy camaraderie with Sano-san and hardly being able to bear the temptation of his presence. It was getting worse every day. Soujiro began to grow intensely lonely when Sano-san was not present. He moped and pined and puttered about the house until Sano-san walked through the door, at which point he had to restrain himself from leaping into Sano-san's arms like a joyful hound greeting its master.  
  
One night Sano-san was out...carousing, or something, somewhere, and Soujiro tossed about in bed, emotions and memories coursing through him with almost a life of their own. Just when he thought he would scream with frustration, the front door rattled and Sano-san staggered in.  
  
Soujiro held his breath, staring through a torn hole in his screen at the tall fighter. The night was apparently too hot for him: His jacket was off, slung over his shoulder. The moon lit him from outside, outlining his glorious naked torso with silver.   
  
Drunk or not, Sano-san still gave the impression of being able to thrash a roomful of men to a pulp. He straightened, with only a little effort, and shut the door, clumsily trying not to make too much noise.  
  
//He remembers I'm here,//thought Soujiro, with a tiny secret thrill.  
  
Sano-san turned his face toward Soujiro's screen, and Soujiro suddenly held himself very still, hardly daring to breathe. A strange, soft look was in Sano-san's eyes; he took a step toward the screen and then halted, casting his gaze up the stairs toward his own bedroom.  
  
Then he started toward the futon. Soujiro gulped and quickly lay back down, shutting his eyes and trying to slow his suddenly frantic heartbeat. He heard Sano-san stop by his head, and kneel down.  
  
There followed a long silence. Very, very cautiously, Soujiro slitted his eyes open the tiniest bit, barely enough to let him peer out through his thick lashes. All he could see was a dark, blurry outline bent over him. A sudden wash of warm (and rather alcoholic) breath gusted over his cheek, and with a new thrill in his heart Soujiro realized that Sano-san's face was now right next to his ear.  
  
More rustlings and thumpings, and then a beautiful warmth as Sano-san nestled down by Soujiro, carefully settling his arms round the smaller man. Soujiro was suddenly acutely aware that he was wearing nothing but the oversize yukata, and that open and unbelted.  
  
He couldn't take it any more. He opened his eyes.  
  
Sano-san was more drunk than he'd seemed at first; he only gave Soujiro a sleepy smile. "Hey, you," he said, lifting a hand to cup Soujiro's cheek. The gesture was so unthinkingly tender that it filled Soujiro with longing. He wanted to answer, or better yet, to press himself closer and kiss the older man. But he was seized with the fear that Sano-san was not touching *him*; that in his drunkenness Sano-san imagined it was Himura-san who lay naked in his arms.  
  
Dreamily, Sano-san brushed Soujiro's hair from his forehead. "So-ji, c'n I ask you something?"  
  
Overwhelmed with relief at hearing his own name, Soujiro breathed out a "yes".  
  
"You're in love with me, aren't'cha?"  
  
The fear came rushing back, followed by waves of shock. "Wh--What?!"  
  
"Hey, shh. Quit that. Head hurts." Sano-san's arms tightened round him, the hand that had been stroking his hair now coming down to move in soothing little circles against the small of his back. "Don't act like that. It's a logical question."  
  
Love. LOVE. Love? What a word to use! That word had no meaning to Soujiro, was as empty and undefined as if it were in an alien language. It had never been said to him in his life, except in passing conversation. Yumi-san and Kamatari-san had both mentioned it in connection to Shishio-san, but it had been a matter which concerned them, not him. Neither the concept nor the word had any place in his existence. But how to explain this to Sano-san, who was the kind of person who loved as naturally as he breathed?  
  
"I--I don't...I don't quite understand, Sano-san."  
  
"What's to understand?" Sano-san looked puzzled for a brief moment, then bent his scruffy head. Soujiro gasped at the sudden sensation of warm lips on his throat. "I was just askin'. You in love with me?"  
  
"Sano-san, you're drunk...you need to get to bed, perhaps you're just tired..." Betraying his words, Soujiro's hands had already drifted to Sano's head and shoulders and were beginning to stroke the rough brown straggles of hair there. It was so sweet to be held, and kissed. Just to be touched again...  
  
"So-ji." Sano-san lifted himself up onto his elbows and stared at Soujiro. Well, squinted--he was still quite drunk. "Listen to me," he said slowly. "I know what love looks like fromma inside...'n the outside too. An' you got the signs all over." His eyelids drooped a bit, his eyes unfocusing for a moment.  
  
"You're drunk," Soujiro repeated. "Let me get you to bed."  
  
At that the chocolate eyes blinked. Then Sano-san grinned. "Ya just did," he said cheerily, flopping on top of Soujiro and knocking the breath out of the young man. "See? You, me, bed. Mission accomplished." He snuggled into Soujiro's neck again, skin sliding against skin. Soujiro closed his eyes and shivered.  
  
"Ah, liked that, didja?" mumbled Sano-san, nuzzling at Soujiro's jaw, just beneath the ear. "Me too." A knee slid between Soujiro's thighs, and everything in his body jolted and seemed to increase speed. It was as if Sano-san had started them moving forward, and they were going to start going very fast, very soon. But Soujiro couldn't quite see where.  
  
"Sano-san," panted Soujiro, hands already sliding over the broad back. "Sano-san...what signs?"  
  
"Signs?" Another puzzled look.  
  
"You said I have the signs--all over." ("Mmm, all over..." said Sano-san, distracted, and Soujiro had to take the red bandanna by the knot to recapture his attention.) "Do you mean signs of love? What signs are those?"  
  
"Oh, I forgot." Sano-san lay his head on the pillow almost nose to nose with Soujiro's. The unexpected proximity made Soujiro blush. That alone should have let him know how he had changed--if he had been paying attention at the moment. "You've never been in love, huh?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Don't believe in it?" Those eyes were so candid, peering inquiringly and a little fuzzily into Soujiro's soul.  
  
"Well...I think I did, or do. But only for other people. Love is not a thing I understand."  
  
"Crazy thought." Ignoring--or perhaps not seeing--Soujiro's bemusement at this statement, Sano-san wrinkled his brow. "Let's see...oh dammit, my head's not on straight tonight. Signs. Well, you've been avoiding me in that smooth oh-I'm-not-avoiding-you way of yours, where you smile and nod and talk about everything except what happened that time we slept together. But sometimes I catch your smile cracking, like when...when...ah, I'm too damn drunk to remember when right now, but I remember. You're not as good at it as you used to be. You're gettin' skinny, and your eyes are kind of hollow." He traced the line of Soujiro's eye sockets with a tender fingertip. Soujiro shut his eyes, savoring the touch.   
  
"But you're always lightin' up when I come in the room, your face shines like a...like a...pretty shinin' thingie..." This appeared to be rather too long a speech for him in his state, and the voice faded toward the end.  
  
Soujiro was startled, and deeply disturbed. "Am I...transparent, Sano-san?" he asked sadly. "Is it so obvious to you, what I feel?" It was one thing to give up old and unhealthy habits. It was another to lose skills you'd had all your life.  
  
A none too gentle snore made him blink. Sano-san's mouth was open, his eyes solidly shut, finally unconscious.  
  
For a moment Soujiro debated whether or not to get the man into his own bed upstairs, but then he decided he just couldn't be bothered. Besides, a sleeping body in your futon had certain benefits. He snuggled into Sano-san's chest. The scarred arms wrapped around him, as if even in his sleep Sano-san had been expecting this. Soujiro fell asleep.  
  
* * *  
  
He woke pillowed on Sano-san's bicep; not a soft headrest at all, but a surprisingly comfortable one. It fit his neck quite well. Sano-san was warm, his breathing still deep and gentle. His other arm was firmly around Soujiro's waist.  
  
Soujiro blinked, trying to remember what had led to this. Ah, yes...  
  
He smiled up at Sano-san. The fighter had cuddled him close like a favorite doll, and that comforted him somehow. Sano-san was in his sleep as he was awake: perfectly relaxed, at ease, and vaguely happy. A smile curled the corners of his mouth as Soujiro tentatively pressed closer to kiss him.  
  
Sano-san sighed.  
  
Soujiro pulled back, eyes almost crossed. He buried his nose in the blanket.  
  
It was not a good idea to kiss a man in the morning who had been drinking the night before. Not a good idea at all.  
  
Sano-san groaned and stirred, mumbling something about his head. Soujiro shut his eyes quickly and began to take deep, even breaths.  
  
He felt the arm under him give a tiny jerk of startlement. "Wh--" he heard Sano-san say.  
  
Then there was silence, in which he tried to keep his breathing even and stop his eyelids from twitching.  
  
After a while he felt a hand cup his face. He felt Sano-san kiss his hair. Artfully he snuggled closer. Sano-san kissed his forehead.  
  
There was a limit to how long he could go on acting. Soujiro made a show of stirring, then slowly opened his eyes, blinking as if the sunlight hurt him. The first thing he saw was the gentle smile on Sano-san's face.   
  
"'Morning, So-ji," said Sano-san, in an unusually soft voice. The sound of it made Soujiro quiver to his very toes. He opened his eyes wide, unable to think of what to say.  
  
But Sano-san had felt the little shiver, and saw the blush which now spread across Soujro's face. He squeezed Soujiro around the waist. "Now this, I think, is worth waking up for," he murmured. "Even with a hangover."  
  
Suddenly Soujiro didn't care about Sano-san's breath any more. He leaned forward and kissed him. Sano-san made a brief "mmf" of pleasant surprise, and then began to kiss Soujiro back. Slowly. Intensely. In an extremely...*involving* way.  
  
Sano-san's mouth moved down to Soujiro's neck, and he slipped his hands under Soujiro's open robe. Soujiro made a little gasp of delight. Yes, this was what he wanted, what he had been wanting, Sano-san's big hands under his clothes, moving over his thighs and his back and...ooh, ooh, yes, and his bottom, squeezing first one round, firm cheek and then the other, stroking the curve of them, all the while Sano-san kissing his neck and making little delicious mutterings of satisfaction. He squirmed a little in Sano-san's arms, trying to get more friction between their bodies.  
  
The robe was pulled off one shoulder, and Soujiro gasped as Sano-san began to lavish attention on it the way he had been doing on Soujiro's neck. Soujiro sighed, running his hands up and down Sano-san's bare ribs. Sano-san responded by gently rolling Soujiro onto his back, and climbing on top of him.  
  
Then the laughter started, dry and mad and utterly contemptuous in Soujiro's head. God damn, Sou, it's unbelievable how pathetic you are.  
  
Soujiro froze, with a shocked gasp. Sano-san paused, blinking down at him.  
  
"So-ji...?"  
  
Shishio-san would not stop laughing. Shivering with horror, Souijiro pushed against Sano-san's chest. "Sano-san...please stop, I...I can't..."  
  
Come here, Sou. Let's do it the way you remember. Let me burn you inside and out; let me scorch your soul as well as your skin. It's all the same, in the end. Him or me, there's no difference.  
  
Looking bewildered, Sano-san shifted his weight off Soujiro. He didn't let go, though. "So-ji? What's wrong?"  
  
I fuck you, he fucks you, everybody fucks my sweet little Tenken. Shishio-san's voice became a mad singsong. It's all the same. Everybody's the same.  
  
Soujiro's throat hurt. //Not true. It's not true.// But here was Sano-san now, sweet and concerned but nevertheless *here* in Soujiro's bed, unexpected, uninvited...  
  
And I bet he doesn't even remember last night. This time it was Yumi-san, speaking in her sultry, jaded voice. What he said. How he made you feel, how he makes you feel, even now. You want him, don't you...it's just like he said...but how do you know he wants you? Poor stupid Boy. I of all people would know how this works. Shouldn't you know better too?  
  
"Am I too heavy?" Sano-san was saying, holding him gently. Stroking his hair, all loose on the pillow. Kissing his forehead, then his temple, moving toward his mouth...  
  
"No!" Soujiro pulled sharply away, drew his body into a little fetal curl, away from Sano-san.  
  
"So-ji...?" This time Sano-san sounded hurt as well as puzzled. "What did I do?" He had no idea; he would never have any idea what Soujiro had to go through every single day, this trying to live with two dead people in your head. Two very cynical dead people, who thought everything you had learned and felt and wanted was wrong.  
  
And maybe it was wrong. Soujiro felt a pang deep inside him, somewhere between his stomach and chest, when he thought of Sano-san and Himura-san. Waking up like this, after a night of drinking. Sano-san had told him that he and Himura-san would often go out gambling together. Coming home late, maybe falling asleep in each other's arms. Waking up still tangled in each other's limbs, smiling and murmuring sleepy greetings, and then slowly awakening to one another, beginning to touch and kiss and...Soujiro's breath grew shallow and painful. He shut his eyes and buried his face in the pillow.  
  
The soft touch of Sano-san's hand on his back sent a shock through his body. "Did I..." Sano-san's voice was low, and apprehensive. "Did I...*do* something to you last night?"  
  
He didn't even remember. This was the most humiliating, painful thing of all. And yet it somehow *catalyzed* Soujiro. It was like the battle with Himura-san. It was as if he had been wearing some sort of veil over his eyes and it was suddenly lifted off and everything was terribly clear. Soujiro wished it wasn't. There were some things the better for being unseen.  
  
"No, Sano-san," he whispered. "You did nothing. You only asked a strange question. And I didn't know the answer."  
  
//But I do now. And the answer is yes.//  
  
"And you're not gonna tell me what upset you, are you?" Sano-san's black eyebrows drew together. "You're just going to pull your old tricks on me again. You're going to smile that stupid smile and dance your stupid dance of 'who me? why you must be mistaken, Sano-san.' I hate that. You *know* I hate that."  
  
Soujiro wrenched himself away, sliding out of the futon and sitting up, dragging the blanket protectively in front of his chest. "Why should I care what you hate?" he demanded. A ray of early morning sunlight was shining in through the window; it touched Sano-san's forearm and lit up every fine hair on it in glowing gold. Soujiro looked away; gods, he was getting so WEAK, how could he have let his discipline slip so badly? "Why should I care what you want, for that matter?"  
  
"How would you know what the hell I want?" Sano-san snarled back, sitting up to face Soujiro across the futon, brown eyes furious. "How would you know anything about me? I let you into my house, I tell you a couple of stories, and suddenly you think you can read my mind? Who do you think you are? Kenshin?"  
  
The name Soujiro was learning to hate all over again was the last straw. He couldn't even speak. Uttering something that was more scream than sob, he scrambled for the closet in the back of the house, for the clothes he hadn't worn since his ill-fated arrival in this cursed country.  
  
He didn't bother with the shirt. He'd already gotten the gi on and was pulling up the hakama when Sano-san seemed to realize what he was doing and came up behind him. "So-ji--"  
  
Soujiro didn't even bother to say "Don't touch me!" He whirled, clutching the untied waistband with one hand, and backhanded Sano-san hard with the other.   
  
Sano-san staggered back, looking shocked. The sudden pang in Soujiro's chest made him even more angry. Hastily he tucked his gi into his pants and tied them firmly. He ran to the back door--the older man being between him and the front--up to the brick wall in the back of the little yard, and vaulted it.   
  
The pain when he landed reminded him he was still barefoot. But Soujiro didn't care. He ran, dodging people who were on their way to market, who were hanging out laundry, who were doing stupid, happy, everyday things. Soujiro hated them all, every last one of them.  
  
He collapsed sobbing in an alleyway, out of breath more from suppressed crying than from fatigue. He wept as he hadn't done since the first beating he'd ever taken. He had felt just this way, he remembered: scared and lonely and shocked, shocked that people who he'd thought would take care of him, instead...  
  
//No. Stop it. Stop acting like you're still that stupid child.// That was probably why he was always betrayed. He'd been asking for it, every time. Acting like an idiot, letting feelings and false assumptions run his life...he deserved to be beaten down.   
  
Now you understand. The deep, rough voice was almost gentle. Soujiro lifted his head, not knowing what he expected to see, but there was no one there. Only the memory of Shishio-san's presence, the memory of a hand barely brushing Soujiro's cheek. I'm the only one that ever really knew how to treat you, Sou. I'm the only one that ever really knew you.  
  
"But you never loved me, either," he whispered.  
  
Love?! Shishio-san sounded as if he couldn't believe his ears. Did he still have ears? Soujiro remembered the strangely corrugated shells that were all that remained of the Juppon Gatana commander's ears. He wondered if Shishio-san's ears were whole, in the afterlife.   
  
Love? Is that what you want? Good grief...didn't I teach you *anything*? Love isn't going to get you anywhere, Sou. Love will lead you nowhere and get you nothing. You can waste all your life in looking, but love never comes. Not to people like us.  
  
"But...what about Yumi-san?" He knew Yumi-san had loved her master, and in a way that love had been returned. In a cruel way, yes...even so...  
  
And look where it got her. A blade in the back and forever in Hell. A low, unbelievably dry chuckle. That's love all right. That's as good as it gets, for us.  
  
As good as it gets...Soujiro sobbed and buried his wet face in his hands. It was true, it was all true. Death and destruction, forever, only for him and his kind. Happiness was for other people: ignorant, innocent people. Soujiro was not even a person anymore, only an empty vessel, seeing others' happiness through cold eyes. He had tried to change his life, but he was still the same. One of the walking dead.  
  
In his heart, instead of his head, he remembered Sano-san's smile. The memory of it made him want to die.  
  
"Why am I still alive?" he asked.  
  
To learn, Boy, said Yumi softly. He laid his head on the dusty ground at the foot of a wall, and it was as if he had laid it in her lap again, and she was stroking his hair. To realize these things for yourself. We can try to tell you, and Battousai can preach all he wants, but you had to see it to understand.  
  
"Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I... I think I am beginning to understand."  
  
He closed his eyes and went to sleep right there on the ground, alone as he had always been.  
  
But not unnoticed, this time.  
  
-end 7- 


End file.
